


silence is golden

by haloud



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: Alex wouldn’t say, necessarily, that he waits around for Michael’s mouth to get him into trouble. It’s just such an inevitability that it always pays to be prepared.





	silence is golden

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is not for redistribution without my express permission.

Alex wouldn’t say, necessarily, that he waits around for Michael’s mouth to get him into trouble. It’s just such an inevitability that it always pays to be prepared. And Michael goes down so easy when he’s been baiting, that devil-may-care grin on his full mouth as Alex tosses him onto the bed, curls haloing around his head.

“Mm, you know how I love it when you get physical,” he purrs, hands grabbing at whatever he can reach—Alex’s shirt, the pillow beside his head, Alex himself. Alex grips his wrist bruising-tight, holding that hand still against the inside of his thigh before it inches any higher; but Michael’s clever fingers don’t stop—they start up a teasing massage, rubbing in a slow rhythm through the thick fabric of Alex’s jeans.

That hand is far from the only piece of Michael in motion—he twists his entire body, spreads his legs open and out like he’s either begging or about to buck Alex off of him, every muscle in his torso flexing and shifting with every breath and every deliberate arch of his back. God, he’ll never say it out loud, he’ll keep it private and personal, just for himself, but Michael is at his loveliest like this, in the electric minutes before they bury themselves in each other. And even better is the unique, wild light in his whiskey-colored eyes as he waits at Alex’s mercy, knowing he’ll be taken apart, desperate to be held down.

That light is there now, nervous and bright and excited as Michael touches the pink tip of his tongue to his full lower lip, arches his narrow hips between the vee of Alex’s thighs, and says, “I know that look. Bring it on, private—"

The singsong lilt to his voice, the insistent attempt at stealing friction for himself—they combine for a valiant attempt at bravado, but all Alex has to do is wait it out, patient and smug, like a cat waiting at the mouth of a warren. With his eyes, Alex tracks the fluttering of Michael’s eyelashes, the dilating of his pupils, the bob of his throat, all the way down that leonine body to the hidden twitch of his hardening cock, still trapped inside his jeans. He’ll snap any minute now, Michael will, he’ll crack open honey-sweet and honest and begging, but Alex could wait a lifetime in this exact moment. He _always _wins.

“Say something,” Michael says, twisting his wrist in Alex’s iron grip, voice tripping over the final syllable, and at last Alex lets a smile spread across his face.

“If you want me to talk,” he says, “You’re going to need to be quiet.”

Michael’s mouth falls open as if to respond, but he seems to think better of it before any words come out. His mouth stays parted, though, wet and tempting, and Alex wants to taste him, wants to crowd into him and cover the vulnerable spread of his soft, exposed throat with his palm and stroke behind his teeth with his tongue until their lips are red and swollen. Alex’s cock throbs in agreement, but he ignores it in favor of releasing Michael’s wrist and guiding that hand to rest still at his side.

“That’s a _very _good start,” Alex praises, positioning Michael’s other hand as well. “Now.” He slowly runs his own hand down his stomach and dips his fingertips beneath the waistband of his joggers, sliding the waistband down in tiny, teasing increments just to watch the ravenous way Michael watches him.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he continues, pausing in undressing to fetch the lube stashed beneath the pillow. “I’m going to ride you, and you’re going to stay quiet. Not a single sound, or I stop and you get to wait until I think you’re ready before I start again. Nod if you understand me, Michael.”

He nods frantically, pauses with a furrowed brow, then nods again.

“If you need to say something, say it now. Otherwise you don’t get to say anything besides your safeword until I say so,” Alex warns, and he tugs at his shorts again, revealing the lines of his Adonis belt, watching the heat flare again in Michael’s eyes.

Firming his jaw, Michael nods in acceptance of the challenge, and _fuck, _a surge of arousal and the fierce need to take this man to pieces rush through Alex, igniting an urgency in him that has him abandoning the tease and stripping the rest of his clothes off quick. He prepared himself already—had plenty of time to plan a response to Michael’s mouthiness and opened himself up in the bathroom as soon as they got home, not wanting to wait a second longer than he had to. Still, he wets two fingers with the lube and slides them inside himself, scissoring them to check the stretch, biting his lip and indulging in a happy hum when he nudges his own prostate.

Michael’s fingers twitch at his sides like there’s nothing more he wants than to be the one touching Alex, the one pleasuring him, and a rebellious little “nnn…” rumbles out of his throat before he can stop it.

_Ha. _“I haven’t even gotten your pants off yet. If that’s the best you can do, maybe I’ll just jerk off and leave you hanging.”

Michael’s cock gives another insistent twitch against his zipper at the same time he shakes his head frantically, tossing his hair against the pillow, and Alex _has _to touch it, has to gather a fistful of wild, silky curls and pull it tight until Michael is arched and trembling like a plucked harp, his eyes rolled back in bliss. His breath hitches out _hah-ah _when Alex lets him go, like he just barely stopped himself from breaking the rules again.

To reward that show of control, Alex takes a bit of pity and finally unbuttons Michael’s jeans and shoves them down and out of the way, letting his cock bob free. Then, just to be a little bit mean, he brushes his palm across his sensitive head, even less than a tease, and then he does it again, and _again, _letting Michael roll his hips to seek more, stroking him with lube to get him ready but never really applying any pressure or friction, then just as Michael manages to fully rub himself against Alex’s hand he pulls it away. And sure enough, that denial pulls a _whine _out of Michael’s throat, long and loud and upset, and Alex can tell that Michael’s already going down because it takes him a second or two to realize what he’s done. His eyes dart to Alex’s then, huge and begging, and his whole body goes so still as if trying to convince Alex he can still be good.

“Keep trying,” Alex teases, “I know you can do it. Nod if you’re ready to continue?”

As soon as Michael nods, Alex positions himself above his cock, braced to keep weight off the remainder of his leg, and sinks down, hissing in satisfaction at the stretch and burn of being filled.

He sets the rhythm, keeps it slow and deep, milking Michael’s cock with his inner muscles every time he draws up, bottoming out in full when he comes back down. The tendons in Michael’s neck stand out in sharp relief; he alternates between gasping out huge, wet breaths and biting his lip so hard the skin goes white around his teeth, but still he manages to stay quiet, no hungry moans, no grunts of exertion, no mewling for more the way Alex knows he wants to, needs to. There’s just the sound of his breathing, their breathing together, the sound of skin on skin, the filthy-wet sound of Michael’s cock thick and perfect stroking in and out of him.

Alex fills the breathless silence with words, with what he knows Michael needs, with exactly the right thing to make everything okay. “I know, I know how hard this is for you, I know how hard you’re trying—” he pants out in a constant stream of words, of praise, of the sound of his voice to give Michael a tether back to his own body. “—And you’re doing so well, doing everything I asked, mmmn, fuck—”

God, every inch of Michael is perfection, and never more perfect than when he’s _Alex’s, _body and soul, as selfish as it is true. Michael’s feet scrabble among the twisted sheets, desperate for purchase but unable to so much as twitch his hips unless Alex makes it so. Every breath he takes hitches at the end like it _could _be a sob, if Michael wasn’t swallowing every single sound, if Alex let it be. He’s _perfect, _he’s glorious, so obedient and controlled no matter how his cock throbs inside Alex, despite the helpless wetness clumping up his eyelashes and dampening his cheeks.

And Alex rewards him. Of course he does.

He leans forward to get better leverage, to slide his hands into Michael’s where they’re still at his sides, exactly where Alex put them, and Michael responds immediately, clinging on to him, holding on for dear life. Moving his hips quick and shallow now, no finesse, hurtling Michael towards the release he’s so completely earned, Alex lets his voice tumble out unfiltered, a repeated rush of “That’s it, that’s it, Michael, god, I love you, that’s it—”

Just before he comes, Michael’s hips twitch up _hard, _catching Alex off guard and forcing out of him a startled shout that dissolves into breathless laughter, and one of Michael’s hands jerks like a trapped moth in Alex’s grip, so he lets him go. He lets Michael smother whatever shout almost escaped him into the palm of his hand as his cock throbs and finally comes in hot pulses deep inside Alex, who collapses onto Michael’s chest to kiss him, first just under his bottom lip where his teeth have dug in angry red marks, then full on the mouth, lazy and languid until Michael’s heartbeat evens out and his body starts to relax. When his eyes flutter open, still dazed and glassy but at least able to focus, Alex sits himself back up until he straddles Michael’s chest, then he jerks his cock rough and efficient until he’s come too, in messy stripes across Michael’s face, and _god, _Michael’s eyes roll back at the feel of it, and Alex feels it too, possessing Michael as Michael is being possessed and _reveling _in it.

All loose and languid in the afterglow, Alex relishes the exerted tug of the muscles in his thighs when he leans over for the wet cloth and the bottles of water he left beside the bed before taking his leg off. He cleans Michael’s face tenderly, following each swipe of the fabric with his fingertips, kissing his swollen lips again once all the mess has been wiped away.

“You can talk now, if you feel like it,” he murmurs against Michael’s mouth, sliding off his body to press himself all against Michael’s side, pressing gentle open-mouthed kisses to his shoulder while he waits to hear Michael’s voice again.

He waits and waits while Michael lays there, eyes closed; he watches the movement of his Adam’s apple as Michael tries to wet his throat to speak.

“Was it too much?” Alex asks gently, bracing himself for the yes, mind spinning off into planning for deeper aftercare, into preparing the right words to say to re-center Michael in himself if he drops.

But Michael just laughs, even if it’s a bit strained and watery, and he shifts enough to be able to look Alex in the eye. He licks his lips a few times, then finally manages to say, “No way. You just broke my brain.”

Alex rolls his eyes, a warm flush of relief running over his skin. He reaches over to stroke across Michael’s jaw, and Michael leans into the touch like he always does, rubbing into Alex’s palm like he’d be purring if he could.

“You were amazing,” Alex praises, continuing to stroke him. “I knew your control was impressive, but to see you wield it in a way that doesn’t come as easily to you like staying quiet…I’m proud of you.”

And Alex just croons wordlessly when the words make Michael press himself even closer, squirming until there’s not an inch of space between them and his face is buried in Alex’s chest, where he stays, likely dozing, while Alex runs his fingers through his hair.

After all, it’s clear that they don’t really _need _to speak at all.


End file.
